Delirium
by kicksenselessmydefenses
Summary: After Beck and Jade break up, she cuts all contact, flees to NYC and takes refuge onstage on Broadway, leaving Beck behind in Hollywood at a dead-end job with no future. It seems over between them. But when she suddenly vanishes, seemingly without a trace, just how far will Beck go to find her? And will he ever get the chance to make things right? Future!Bade (age 22). Please R&R!
1. Loss

I live in an old beat-up Airstream in only the shittiest of trailer parks, just south of Hollywood. I don't know my neighbors, and I don't think I care to. Judging from the sounds that come from their trailers every night- sounds of fighting, clinking glass, and screams of hallucination from whatever street drug they're on- they aren't exactly the best caliber of people. But then again, neither am I. Not anymore, anyway.

I work as a singing waiter at a rundown coffee shop in the worse part of Hollywood, serenading pretty girls, striking poses as I hand them their order. Anything for a tip. Sometimes they slip me their numbers, hastily scribbled on a paper napkin ring or the back of their check, and sometimes I call them, invite them over for whispered compliments and breathless encounters on my thrift store couch , and when they leave I never speak to them again. It's nothing personal. I just can't. And I still haven't figured out why that is.

This isn't at all how I imagined my life playing out- this isn't how things are supposed to be. I was the golden boy of my high school; I starred in every show, had the teachers fawning over me and girls practically fainting every time I gave them a second glance. I was meant to get out of this place, go far and be somebody, but, dammit, even the best laid plans get fucked up beyond repair without you even noticing, and by the time you do, it's too late to do anything about it. You can't will something into reality just because you want it, and that whole 'hard work will pay off' thing is bullshit.

My parents have long since given up on me, and stopped the weekly phone calls where they'd ask hopefully about what I was up to and then not even bother to mask the disappointment in their voices when the answer was always the same: nothing. I can't even remember the last time we spoke. My birthday? Maybe Christmas. It doesn't matter- all of my days blur together anyway, a mess of dirty coffee cups and unpaid bills and auditions that never amount to anything, callbacks that never come, connections always missed and always finding myself in the right place at the wrong time. I'm only twenty-two years old, but I can't help but feel like my fate is sealed, like I'm destined to live paycheck to paycheck in this crappy RV, doomed to a life of anonymity like I'd always feared I would be.

I swear I see her sometimes, out of the corner of my eye, black curls cascading down her back and light glinting off the studs in that hideous belt she always insisted on wearing. I know she isn't there. I know she's off being Broadway's latest darling, making a name for herself like I always knew she would, like I'd always intended to do for myself.

But still, I keep her around, even though I know I shouldn't. I can still smell her on my plaid shirts and feel her lips against mine, kissing me in the way only she knew how to do. I can hear the purr in her voice when she'd whisper in my ear, and I can feel the warmth of her smile, rare though it was. She's always with me, even though she's long gone, and of all the mistakes I've made in my life- and, trust me, there are more than a few- losing her is the one that I just cannot seem to forgive myself for.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So I woke up in the middle of the night last night with this sudden inspiration for this story, and I couldn't go back to sleep until I'd outlined it. This is going to be another multichap, and I hope to update every week.

I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are welcome and appreciated! :)


	2. Gone

Not a day passes that I don't find myself thinking of her. Sometimes it's the customers that walk into the coffee shop- sometimes, at first glance, they look like her. Like Jade. And I get my hopes up in spite of myself, only to have them shattered when I take a second look and realize just how different this particular girl is from her- her eyes aren't blue enough, she's too tall, her skin is just a slightly different shade, there's no nautical star tattooed on her right forearm- and I feel an all too familiar wave of disappointment start to sink down on me, and I kick myself for getting my hopes up at all.

Days pass. Weeks. Maybe even months, and still she's with me, invading my thoughts and breaking my heart all over again due to the simple fact that she's just not there, no matter how much I might want her to be. I miss her terribly, and I know it's entirely my fault that she's gone, that she picked up and left for New York without telling anyone or ever looking back. I drove her to it. I know I did, with my lame excuses and broken promises, not to mention the cruel words and insults I'd fling at her during arguments, things carefully crafted to bruise her and stick in her mind. She tolerated all my bullshit for as long as she could, saying that she loved me no matter what and that she was determined to try and make this thing work. But one day, I got jealous and worked up over something stupid, and I said things to her that were just inexcusable, and that to this day I can't bear to repeat because I'm so ashamed. I'll never forget the look of shock and pain on her face during that last fight; she couldn't have looked more hurt even if I'd kicked her. I was backpedalling frantically, trying to stammer out an apology, watching helplessly as her bright blue eyes grew even brighter with tears.

"Jade, baby, I'm so sorry, I love you-"

She swiped her fist across her eyes, dragging a blurry line of melted mascara along her temple. "I know you do, Beck," she whispered, folding her arms across her chest. "And I love you, too. With all my heart. And that's just the problem." She turned and walked out of the RV, combat boots clunking on the metal floor, and for the second time in my life I heard her start her car and drive away, and for the second time, I didn't go after her.

I didn't get a second chance that time, either. I didn't get a song sang to me in front of the entire school before we kissed and made up. The next day, I found a box of plaid shirts and love letters waiting by the tree outside, and when I tried to call her, she'd blocked my number. I called all of our friends, desperately trying to find out where she was and if she was okay, finally getting answers from Tori, of all people.

"She came by last night and she was pretty upset," she began. I heard her sigh into the phone. "She wouldn't tell me what happened, just that you two'd had a fight and she'd finally had enough. I've never seen her like that before. You really broke her, dude. Oh, and she had a suitcase with her, and asked me to drive her to the airport, so I did."

I swallowed hard. "So... she's gone."

"Yeah. She's gone."

I felt my heart stop.

"Thanks, Tori," I choked out, running a hand through my hair. "And if you hear from her, um... just, let me know, okay? I just want to know that she's all right."

"Okay, Beck. Bye."

It's been almost a year since that phone call, and now I know where she went: New York. According to Tori, within her first month there, she landed some ensemble work in _Wicked_, as well as some modeling jobs at Macy's. Nowadays, she's worked her way up to playing Nessarose in _Wicked, _and she's Elphaba's understudy, too. I've seen some illegally recorded videos of the nights she's played Elphaba, and she truly is incredible. Performing was always extremely important to her, and it definitely suits her. Apparently, she even has an agent and is looking into making the jump from stage to screen. Pretty impressive stuff for a girl who's only twenty-two years old. I always knew she'd be famous, even when we were in high school. That kind of talent is something rare, and when someone has it, it's like electricity- you can just feel it radiating from them.

One night, I'm working late at the coffee shop, and I'm the only one there, standing behind the counter making a fresh pot of decaf, half-listening to the television blaring from the corner. "And in other news, Broadway actress Jadelyn West has officially been reported missing."

At the mention of her name, I feel my blood run cold, and I slowly turn to face the screen, a knot forming in my stomach.

"Ms. West was last seen leaving the Gershwin Theatre after a matinee performance of _Wicked_ last Sunday afternoon," the reporter continues. "She did not show up for the show the following Tuesday, nor any performances scheduled for this week. All attempts to contact her have been fruitless, and there is little evidence of foul play." I grip the counter, forcing breaths through my teeth in a hiss. "If anyone has any information on Ms. West or her whereabouts, you are asked to call the New York Crimestoppers hotline immediately." With that, a picture of Jade pops up on the screen. I fall to my knees. She's even more beautiful than I'd remembered, but there was an intensity behind her gaze, a sort of deep pain that I feel sure I'd put there.

Jade is missing.

She'd left Hollywood because of me, and now she's missing. And no one has any idea where she is.

She could be raped, or in a torture chamber, or dead, even.

I start crying deep, ugly, completely non-manly sobs, curling into the fetal position on the sticky tile floor.

She's missing.

This is all my fault.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So here's the next chapter! I decided to go ahead and publish it to give you guys a little bit more to read, since I most likely will not be updating for the next couple of days.

I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews are welcome and appreciated!


	3. Realizations

I close up the coffee shop early, even though I'm not supposed to and could get in some serious shit for doing so. I stomp outside, gravel crunching under my heavy boots, and climb into my ancient pickup truck. It takes some coaxing to get it to start, but it does, finally roaring to life after a few feeble groans of protest. I zoom down the freeway, ignoring every single speed limit and traffic sign, hoping- no, _praying _for some asshole cop to have the nerve to pull me over. The entire way home, I see nothing but Jade, her face branded into my memory, even though I wish that it wasn't, that I could just forget her, but I can't. I drive and see the way she always smiled like she had some sort of secret, with the light glinting off of the stud in her brow. I see the way her huge eyes always looked different every time I saw them, like they just couldn't decide which color it was they wanted to be. I see her, feel her as I aggressively maneuver the car, and what makes it even harder to bear than usual is that, this time, I don't even have the security of knowing where she is. Because she's missing.

I stomp the gas pedal and Jade flashes in front of my eyes.

I finally pull into the trailer park, yanking the keys from the ignition and running a hand through my hair, forcing myself to breathe as I try to ignore the rising feelings of guilt and worry that are tangling together in the middle of my chest and making my blood run cold. As I sit there, gripping my keys, pressing the cold metal into my palm, I feel a sudden and distinct wave of nausea flood over me. My stomach starts seizing, but I manage to open the truck door and tumble onto my knees in the grass just in time for me to throw up all over the ground, my entire body shaking and tears pricking in the corners of my eyes.

I sit back on my heels, swiping at my face with the back of my hand. I swallow, hard, forcing myself to regain my composure long enough to pull my phone out of the pocket of my worn jeans. Without really thinking about it, my thumb punches her number in the keypad and I press my forehead against my fist, preparing to hear that all-too-familiar automated message notifying me that my number has been blocked.

It takes me a moment to realize that the message never comes.

Instead, I hear several rings before the voicemail picks up with a click. My breath catches in my throat as I hear Jade's voice for the first time in over a year.

"Hi, you've reached Jade West. I'm not here right now, but leave me a message, and I'll call you back as soon as I can. Thanks. Bye."

I can't help but scoff a little- it hardly even sounds like her. Her agent must have put her up to it, I figure. Her voicemail prompts have never sounded that cordial before- they were always much more menacing, more full of the anger and bitterness I'd always found myself having to really work to push past and get at the softness and warmth I knew she held fast behind her stony exterior. I've always understood her. I know that much for sure, but one thing I don't get is why she'd unblocked my number. Was it an accident? Maybe she'd done it on purpose- disappeared of her own accord because she knew I'd come looking for her?

I shake my head. No. I'm giving myself way too much credit. Jade might be cryptic, but she'd never do something that impulsive and stupid- not when she had so much going for her, at least.

I feel my panic start to rise again, my heart racing and my breath quickening, so I go ahead and leave her a message: "Hey, Jade... um, it's Beck. Um... I know you probably don't want to talk to me, I just-" I clear my throat. "Look, baby, people are worried about you. Real worried. So if you get this, please just let me know you're okay, and I promise I'll never bother you again. Um... bye." I hang up the phone and toss it on the ground beside me, twisting blades of grass between my fingers and listening to crickets chirp from the scrubby bushes that surround the park.

It's strange how long you can go without seeing a person, and yet they still have a huge impact on your life. I mean, I've carried her in my heart day in and day out for almost the past year, but I hadn't realized just how much of a hold she had on me until tonight. It's made me even more determined to resolve things with her, to fix us both to the point that we could finally get on with our lives.

I sigh in resignation and heave myself up off the ground, slamming the truck door closed and trudging wearily to my trailer. There's no doubt in my mind that I still love her. I just wish it hadn't taken her moving across the country and disappearing into thin air for me to realize that.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know I've been pretty AWOL lately- I got super busy with school, but I'm back now! Yay!

This chapter's kinda filler, but it's necessary. I hope you like it!

Reviews make my heart sing. Just saying.


	4. Decisions

Once inside the trailer, I try to make myself a pot of coffee to calm my nerves, but my hands are shaking so hard that I spill the grinds all over my scratched laminate countertop, so I give up and sit on my bed, staring at the wall for a long time until I finally snap out of my reverie and realize how just late it is. I force myself to halfheartedly brush my teeth and climb under the scratchy covers, tossing and turning for what feels like hours. Finally I drift off, and I sleep fitfully, dreaming of blue eyes and dial tones and flashes of light.

I wake with a start, her name escaping my lips before I can stop myself. Without really thinking about it, I grab my phone from the overturned bucket I use as a nightstand and punch in her number. I listen nervously, picking at the skin on my thumb as it again it rings through to voicemail, but I hang up without leaving another message and instead dial Tori's phone. It rings twice before she picks up.

"Hey, Beck."

I'm not stupid. I can hear the edge of suspicion in her voice, in the overly casual tone that she's using with me.

"How's it hanging, dude?" she asks.

"Look, Tori, I really don't have time for small talk, okay?" I snap.

My words come out rough, guttural, dripping with irritation, and when she speaks again, I can tell that I've pissed her off.

"Well, aren't we just full of sunshine and smiles today?" she chirps, not bothering to mask her sarcasm.

"Tori," I sigh, resting my forehead in my palm, "Jade's missing."

A sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line nearly deafens me. "What do you _mean, _she's _'missing'?"_

I can tell Tori's concerned- I know she's always had more of a soft spot for Jade than she likes to let on, and I'm sure the two of them got even closer after what happened between us. I clear my throat and sit up, one hand picking at the pills of lint that cover my threadbare blanket. "I _mean_ she's missing. She's gone. I saw it on the news when I was at the coffee shop last night- she hasn't shown up for work in days, and no one can seem to find her. I've tried calling her, but all I get is voicemail-"

"Wait," Tori cuts me off. "She unblocked your number? When the _hell _did that happen?"

"I don't know!" I continue impatiently. "Look, I'm getting really worried. Have you heard from her lately? Any idea where she could be?"

There's a crackling noise as Tori sighs into the phone; she must have it pinned to her ear with her shoulder. "Yeah, I talked to her last week. She seemed kind of out of it, to be honest. She told me that she's been under a lot of stress lately and hasn't been getting much sleep, and she thinks that's what's making her have trouble remembering her lines." Tori pauses for a moment before continuing. "I thought that was kind of weird, because Jade's always had it together with things like that; I remember this play we were in together junior year- she had her part down before anybody else.

"Anyway, she seemed kinda... scared, I think. I can't be sure, because you know that's not like her at all. And she kept saying _'I don't know what's wrong with me.' _God, she must have said that a good ten times. I did my best to calm her down- told her she was just overworking herself, and maybe she should let her understudy take over for a few days so she could take it easy and get some rest. And I said to let me know if she needed anything, and she said she would. And that was the last I heard from her." Tori's voice cracks, and I can hear her start crying. "I feel terrible. She told me something was wrong, and I just blew her off! God, Beck, this is all my fault-"

"Shh," I soothe. I'm still processing everything she's told me. "Tori. _Tori. _Listen. It's gonna be alright, okay? I'll-" I make a split-second decision, but I know it's the right one. "I'll find her."

"You will?" she sniffles. "How are you gonna do that?"

I shift my weight uncomfortably. "Um... I guess I'm going to New York."

* * *

I finally hang up with Tori, but not before she makes me promise to keep her in the loop. Next, I call my parents and explain everything to them, which takes awhile because I'm so worked up at this point that my words keep tripping over each other. They agree, with surprisingly little protest, to lend me the money I'll need to get to New York- my parents always really liked Jade, and they're appropriately concerned when I tell them the news that she's missing. It's pretty widespread knowledge that I'm essentially the person who drove her away from California in the first place, and I can tell that my mom and dad definitely agree with that.

"This could well be your last chance, Beckett Adam," my mom hisses into the phone. I feel my stomach turn. My mother only whips out the whole first/middle name combination when I'm in some seriously deep shit. "If you do find Jadelyn, you are to do right by her, understand? That girl's put up with enough of your crap. Don't put her through any more."

My dad's admonition is a little more blunt: "Beck, if you screw this up again- I love you, you know I do, but I swear to God I'll kick your ass like a little boy, because that's exactly what you've been behaving like these days."

"Got it, guys," I say wearily.

"We mean it, son," my dad says sternly. "She left because of you, so now it's on your head to go and find her."

"Honestly, Beck," my mom wheedles, "She was such a _nice _girl, she was one of the best things that ever happened to you, you know-"

"I know, I fucking _know, _okay?" I exclaim, cutting them off. They fall silent. "And I know if, God forbid, anything _has _happened to her, it's basically my fault." I feel my eyes start to well up as I think of all the horrible things that could have gone down- kidnapping. Rape. Or- oh God, murder. I shake my head, forcing the thoughts to retreat. It's not good to think like that, to have a negative attitude when I'm about to travel all the way across the country to look for the girl I loved. Love. It's not going to benefit anyone, least of all her.

"Look, I'm sorry for yelling at you guys," I mutter, pinching the bridge of my nose between my forefinger and thumb. "I'm just really worried about her."

"We know, sweetheart," my mom says, her voice softening into a much more comforting tone. "Don't we, dear?" My dad grunts his assent from the extension. "Go find her, Beck, and make sure she's all right. We love you."

"I'll find her," I assure them before hanging up the phone. I grab an old duffel bag from under my bed and start haphazardly throwing things into it- a few shirts, some jeans, a belt. As I pack, I repeat those three words to myself again and again, like a mantra; like an affirmation; like a promise; like a prayer.

"I'll find her."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know my chapters are ridiculously short, and I could definitely make them longer, but for this story I feel like the shorter ones are more appropriate. So I hope that's okay. :) Also, I have several chapters written and waiting to be typed, so updates should be more frequent for the time being!

Please let me know what you think of the story. I do appreciate it.


	5. Encounters

One of the many cool things about living in California is how incredibly accessible everything is, especially travel. People are always coming and going; places to be, people to see, that kind of thing. This basically means a) that the airports do one hell of a business, and b) that they have tickets to almost anywhere you'd want to go pretty much any time of day, including (luckily for me) a nonstop flight from Los Angeles to JFK in New York.

I put my ticket on my debit card and check my duffel bag before I head into the terminal. I quickly find my gate and check in, but I don't sit down or anything, because I'm still pretty early. I wander around for a bit to kill time, finding a little kiosk where I buy a soda and a cheap, murder-mystery paperback that I honestly have no intention of reading. Soon enough, they're calling for my gate to board, so I follow the herd of people down the little detachable hallway out onto the plane.

I've just gotten myself settled into my seat (row 22, aisle) and I'm examining a SkyStore catalog, like the ones Cat was so obsessed with a few years ago, when I hear a familiar voice behind me.

"Beck? Hey, Beck Oliver? Oh my God, man, is that you?"

I turn around and see that the voice's owner has arrived beside my elbow, grinning down at me. I let out a chuckle of surprise and jump to my feet.

"Andre!" I exclaim, pulling him in for a quick hug and a slap on the back. "Oh my God! How the hell you been, man?"

"I could ask you the same question," he replies, playfully swatting me on the arm. "I'm just kiddin', bro. Yeah, I came home from school for a visit- hadn't seen my grandma in awhile- but I've got finals next week, so I'm heading on back to good old NYU."

"NYU?" I repeat, impressed. "I didn't know. What are you doing there?"

"Studyin' at Tisch, man. Clive Davis Institute of Recorded Music. Gonna rule that record industry with an iron fist, you know." He laughs. "So-"

At that moment, a flight attendant comes on over the intercom, cutting him off and startling both of us. "All passengers, please, take your seats, and make sure your seat belts are securely fastened, your table trays are locked and stowed, and that your seat backs are in the upright and locked position. The pilot is preparing for takeoff." The speakers crackle a bit as they're turned off, and Andre gestures to the seat beside me. "Mind if I hang with you? Long flight to be by yourself."

"Oh, of course," I reply, turning so he can edge past me and sit down. I drop into my seat and slide the belt into place across my lap. We sit quietly as the safety video plays and the flight attendants walk through the cabin, checking that overhead bins are shut tight. Once we've taken off, Andre faces me once more, and his eyes full of questions. "So, uh, Beck, why'd you say you're going to New York again?"

"I didn't," I say, running my hand through my hair. "Jade."

He nods, a look of concern fading into his face and masking his normally cheerful features.

"Right," he begins, clearing his throat. "Um... look, man, don't take this the wrong way, but- when y'all broke up, she was pretty tore up about it. Showed up on my doorstep one night, suitcase in hand, eyes all red, hair all wild, looking like she hadn't slept in weeks. I let her stay for awhile, until she got everything sorted out and found herself an apartment. Still see her, though. Sometimes we get together and catch up on her days off, and I've seen the show a bunch of times. She gets my tickets comped for me; says it's the least she can do for her living off me for that little bit. Not that she was much trouble- she pretty much kept to herself, and that girl eats like a bird. Hardly knew she was there half the time, except for the fact that she always had that dang coffee pot goin'." He chuckles, shaking his head. "I keep telling her she's more than repaid me, but you know how stubborn she can be."

I nod. Andre pauses, taking a breath.

"Couple weeks ago, I saw the show on a night she got to play one of the main witches. You know, the green one. I can't remember her name. And, lemme tell you, she's _good_, Beck. Real good. Always has been. You know that better than anyone. And now she's... she's finally got this new life, and- again, don't take this the wrong way- you might not fit into it."

I nod again. He shrugs, eyeing me carefully. "Jade and I, we've gotten pretty tight. She spent a whole lot of time being all kinds of messed up over you, and it took her awhile to get her shit together. I don't know if I wanna see a repeat of all that." He exhales, twisting a dreadlock between his fingers. "I'm just telling you, 'cos you're both my friends, you know? I want y'all to be happy, and I'm honestly not sure if it'll be with each other."

I'd be lying if I said Andre's words didn't sting me a bit, but I can't fault him for them. But... "Wait a minute, you think I'm just going there to try and make up with her?"

"Yeah. I mean- that's what I figured," he says sheepishly. "Sweep her off her feet, the whole bit."

"You don't know?" I ask.

Andre looks up at me, clearly confused. "What do you mean? Know what?"

I feel a knot forming in my chest, so I press my fist against my sternum like I'm trying to rub it away. Even though I've known about Jade for a couple of days, it doesn't make the news any easier to stomach. It's not like it's the kind of thing you can really get used to. "Andre," I begin, "I don't really know how to tell you this, but- well- Jade's missing. She has been since about Saturday, I think. And no one knows where she is."

His face is troubled. "What, someone kidnap her or something?"

I shake my head. "No, I don't think so. The news report I saw said that there's no evidence of 'foul play', whatever the hell that means." There's a lump in my throat and my eyes are burning with the promise of tears, so I blink them back and take a long swig of my soda. "It's not like I'm expecting anything from her, you know, if they find her." _If. _"I just- you're right. I've really fucked her over a lot of times in the past, and I know that. I was a complete ass. I just want to go there and make sure she's okay. And if she tells me to go to hell and that she never wants to see me again, then, _boom-" _I snap my fingers. "I'm gone. I'll never bother her again. I just- I've gotta go look for her, dude. I've got to. For once, I'm gonna do the right thing for her. She deserves that."

Andre nods slowly. "You do what you gotta do, bro." He leans over me and flags down a passing flight attendant. "Two Bud Lights, please."

When she returns with the beers, he slips her a twenty and tells her to keep the change before opening one of the cans and handing me the other. I take it gratefully, popping the top open to sip at it. After a moment, I set it down, swiping the back of my hand across my lips.

I turn back to Andre, and find him looking at me again, his gaze serious, his beer looking almost comically small as he grips it in his big hand. "A toast," he intones solemnly. I quickly pick my own drink back up. "To my old friend, Beck, proving that there are, in fact, still decent people in this world." I smile as we clunk our cans together and take a long, cool pull from them.

We're quiet for a few minutes.

"You're a good guy, Beck," he says, slapping me on the shoulder.

I don't answer him at first. Instead, I reach up and hook the tip of my finger through the ring I've got hanging on a black silk cord around my neck. Well, it used to be black, anyway. It's more grey now, and it's starting to get a little frayed, the ring itself losing some of its cheap gold plating and starting to tarnish. But I've never taken this thing off, and I probably never will, no matter how old it gets- even after all this time, I know the feelings are still the same as the day I put it on.

"A good guy," I repeat, finally breaking the silence. I drain the last of my beer. "Not yet, man. But for the first time in my life, I'm sure as hell trying to be."

* * *

**Author's Note**

So I've been really into this story lately, and have been brainstorming and drafting a lot, so you're getting two chapters in one day. :)

I'm really fond of this chapter. It was fun to write, and I hope you all enjoy it.

Reviews are awesome, and if you leave one, it's like giving me a virtual lollipop. Just something to keep in mind.


	6. Flashback

FIVE YEARS AGO

It's almost Jade's and my first anniversary, and I know she's hoping I'll forget, but I won't- there's no way I could forget something this important. I've spent weeks planning for tomorrow night, even though I've been expressly informed not to get her anything: she tells me this over coffee after school in her most menacing tone of voice, clearly trying to show that she means business, but her intensity is completely ruined by the latte mustache smeared across her upper lip, which (much to my delight) she is entirely oblivious to.

"No presents. And _no _surprises, okay?" she demands.

"What makes you think I'd get you anything, anyway?" I tease, stealing her scone and taking a bite.

Jade stares me down, trying to get me with that death glare she's so fond of, but I just look at her, amused, until she finally gives up and relaxes her face. "I mean it, babe," she whines, fiddling with one of her rings. "I really-"

I cut her off with a kiss, and she doesn't even bother trying to stop me. I taste the coffee on her lips before I move upward to kiss her nose and forehead. Even though she complains that she hates that because I smear her makeup, I know she secretly likes it. I can tell by the way she sighs and how her skin reddens ever so slightly whenever I do so; a ripple effect set into motion by my lips. That's how it is with Jade and I, though it definitely took some work to get here. I bend back down to kiss her again, soft and slow, cupping her cool cheek in my hand so I can feel it blush with warmth. I know this ice queen of a girl melts only for me, and that's something I'll never take for granted.

Jade pulls away just a little bit, her nose brushing against mine. "Okay, maybe I can handle a _little_ surprise," she concedes softly.

"That's my girl."

* * *

The next day, I show up to school with a single black rose and the largest coffee I could get from Jet Brew, which appears to be roughly the size of a trashcan. I'm leaning against her locker, absently tracing my thumb over one of the many pairs of scissors embedded in the door, when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and find Jade looking up at me (even with her combat boots on, I've still got a good few inches on her), dressed in her favorite jeans and- oh, there's that plaid shirt I've been looking for.

"Hey, babe," I smile, leaning down to peck her on the cheek. "Happy anniversary."

Jade's expression shifts into one of her rare smiles, lighting up her entire face. "Those for me?" she asks, pointing to my hands.

"Absolutely," I say, presenting the gifts with a flourish.

Jade hefts the enormous coffee into one hand and carefully takes the flower with the other, her eyes widening as she examines it. "I don't think I've ever seen a black rose before."

"Neither had I," I reply, hooking a finger through her belt loop. "Do you like it?"

She nods slowly, and I can tell she really does. "It's beautiful, Beck. Thank you."

"That's not all I got you, though," I say, running a hand through my hair.

She looks at me curiously. "I thought we said no surprises."

"No, _you _said no surprises," I remind her. "And if you recall, you did, in fact, change your mind about that."

Jade's lower lip pushes out into a pout. "That's not fair. You tricked me."

"I did not!" I exclaim. "It's not like you exactly put up a fight, you know."

"Fine," she relents. "So where is it?"

"It's not here," I explain, tugging gently at the ends of her hair. "Tonight. Be ready at seven."

"But I-"

I place a finger over her lips. "Shh."

"But-"

"No buts, Jade."

She glowers at me as best as she can, but I can see the little glint in her eye, and that's how I know she's not really mad.

"You'll like it. I promise," I assure her, kissing her temple just as the first bell rings. "I gotta get to class, but I'll see you tonight, okay?"

Jade shrugs in resignation. "Okay."

* * *

Later that night, I arrive at her house, letting my car idle in her driveway while I wait for her. I take a moment to check my hair in the rearview mirror and adjust my tie, which keeps going crooked- I can't tie the damn thing right to save my life, and my mom hadn't been home to do it for me. When I finish, she's appeared on the porch, locking the front door behind her, and she looks so stunning that my mouth literally drops open.

Jade's wearing all black, of course, but she's traded her usual denim and studs for this sleeveless, lacy charcoal dress that hugs the curve of her waist and flares out at her hips, the hem coming to just above her knees. She's ironed all of the waves out of her hair so that it's pin straight and shiny, hanging almost to her elbows, the dyed pieces of pink and blue making it look like she's got ribbons woven into it or something. As she comes down the stairs, I can see she's even wearing heels instead of boots for once, and that she has her makeup all done, making her eyes seem impossibly huge against the smooth skin of her face.

She's absolutely perfect, and, by some miracle, she's mine.

Jade finally finishes making her way to the car and carefully climbs in, dropping her purse on the floor and neatly smoothing her skirt.

I can't stop staring at her, and after a moment, she notices.

"What?" she asks, and I can hear a little warble of uncertainty in her voice. "I can- I can go change-"

"You're beautiful," I say softly, the words slipping out without me meaning for them to. Jade turns beet red, and bites at the corner of her lip before she reaches over and takes my hand to lock her fingers with mine.

"Drive, you dork," she orders, and so I do, carefully navigating through the streets until I find a specific parking deck and drive inside to park. I climb out of the car and walk around to open her door for her, helping her to her feet and leading her toward the elevator.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see."

The elevator hums us back down to street level, and soon enough we're back on the sidewalk. I pull an envelope from the pocket of my jacket and hand it to her. She just looks at me quizzically.

"Seriously, baby, just open it." I say.

Jade slides her nail under the adhesive at the corner and tears it open, two rectangles of cardboard falling into her hand. She picks one of them up and inspects it carefully, struggling to read it in the fading evening light. "_Delirium_," she reads aloud. "Staples Center, Los Angeles, California. No flash photography..."

I watch her, waiting patiently as she pieces it together.

"Oh my _God_," she breathes. "These- these _aren't_ tickets to Cirque du Soleil?" I nod. "Wait, _seriously_?" she asks, her tone sounding doubtful. "Come on, are we really going?"

"We are," I say. I can't help but laugh a bit at the pure delight dancing in her eyes. "We're going right now."

Jade's smiling broadly now, her grin almost taking over her entire face. "I've always wanted to see this," she sighs. "Whenever it'd come here on tour, I wanted to see it so bad, but it was always sold out by the time I got enough money saved up to buy the tickets." She shakes her head. "I can't believe you got me these. I can't believe you did this for me."

"Of course I did," I say sheepishly. "You're my girlfriend, and it's our anniversary. I... wanted to get you something special."

Jade's still beaming, staring down at the tickets in her palm. Suddenly, she turns and throws her arms around my neck and kisses me, eliciting a few whistles and some applause from the other people on the street. When she finally pulls away (and when I finally stop seeing stars, because damn, that kiss was good), I wind an arm around her waist, drawing her to my side. "Shall we, my lady?"

She nods, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "We shall."

* * *

After the show, I drive her back home, chuckling and agreeing with her as needed while she raves on and on about it. I've always known that Jade had a bit of a weakness for live entertainment, I've just never gotten to experience it with her. I've never seen her this animated, either, and though the tickets had been pricey, it was worth it to see her so happy.

When we arrive back at her house, I turn to get out and go open her door for her, but she just presses a hand on my shoulder, stopping me. "Not yet," she orders, bending down to rifle through her purse. It takes her a moment, but she finally surfaces with a box. "Um, I got you something, too."

I open the little package and shift aside a layer of tissue paper to shake its contents into my hand: a length of black silk cord, with a small metal ring knotted carefully in the center, its ends clipped together neatly. It looks something like a necklace. "Cool," I say, examining it further, and it _is_ cool- I mean that. "Did you make this?"

Jade nods, tracing the cord with her fingertip. "Yeah, it's like... well, I guess it's kinda like my version of a promise ring or something. Doesn't matter. You don't have to label it. Anyway, this-" she gestures to the circle of metal, "-I know it looks like it , but it's not a ring. It's a washer. You know, for building things?" She looks at me expectantly, and I give a nod- surprisingly, I actually do know what a washer is. "Good. You use them to keep screws from coming out, because if they come out, it makes whatever you're building fall apart. And..." she blushes, eyeing me seriously. "You can't laugh, okay?"

"I won't laugh, babe, I promise," I assure her, patting her knee.

"Okay. Anyway, um... I thought it was sort of a cool, like, metaphor, you know, for us 'building' our relationship together, and, well..." Jade looks down at her hands and is quiet for a minute, like she can't decide if she's going to continue. "You're _my _washer, Beck," she says finally, taking the necklace from me and fastening it around my neck. "You... you keep me from falling apart."

I can do nothing but stare at her, completely awestruck by her words, and after a moment I notice that she has an identical necklace on, the washer resting against her sternum. She's eyeing me anxiously, and so I lean over and kiss her on the lips as tenderly as I possibly can.

"I love you," I say when we break apart. I've never said it before, because I didn't want to do it at the wrong time or move too fast, but now, I'm completely sure. I feel it, with every fiber of my being, and when I look at her I can't think of anything else. "I do. Jade, I love you."

She's been keeping her gaze down for quite some time now, and for a second I'm afraid I've scared her, but then she looks back up at me. If there'd been sparks there before, which I know there had been, then this was a roaring flame, her blue eyes blazing into mine with an unfathomable intensity.

"I love you, too."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I've always been a big fan of flashbacks, and I really wanted to incorporate one into this story. So now we know where the matching necklaces came from (and they seriously are washers, the costume designer from Victorious said so on Twitter) and we have our first mention of delirium. But it certainly won't be the last. ;)

I really enjoyed writing this chapter, and I hope you guys liked it, too. I would really love reviews on this one, because it's definitely one of my favorites so far and I'd love to hear you guys' thoughts. :)


	7. Cracked

The next thing I know, I'm being shaken awake. Really hard, might I add.

"Beck." Another shake. "_Beck. _Wake up, man. We're gonna be landing soon."

I try to hang onto the edge of sleep- I haven't gotten very much over the past couple of days- but it's no use. I reluctantly open my eyes and stretch my arms out in front of me, my muscles a little sore from sitting for so long. "How long was I out?" I ask.

"Few hours," Andre replies, ripping open a little foil packet of peanuts.

"Sorry," I mutter. I feel bad; after all, he'd asked to sit with me so we wouldn't be bored, and then he'd just had to sit there and watch me sleep.

"It's all good," Andre assures me, popping a few peanuts into his mouth. "I figured you could use some rest. The dark circles aren't really working for you, dude. You look like you got punched in the face."

I roll my eyes. "Thanks."

Andre ignores me and eats another peanut. "So, what are you gonna do when we get there? What's your game plan?"

I groan and press my fists against my eyes and rub them, hoping that'll make me feel more awake. Even though I'd gotten a pretty lengthy nap, I hadn't slept very well at all, and I'm still a little groggy. "Plan?" I yawn. "I don't know, man. Thought I'd get a hotel, get settled in. Try and find out where Jade lives, check the scene, then maybe go by the theatre and see what I can find there." I shake my head. "I didn't really come here with an exact roadmap of things to do, you know- it just kinda happened."

Andre nods and holds the packet out to me. "Peanut?"

"No, thanks."

"You said you were gonna go by her apartment," he says, crunching thoughtfully. "Not sayin' that's a bad idea, but do you have any clue where that is?"

I shrug. "Figured I'd check in the phonebook or something."

"You really think a bigshot, up-and-coming Broadway girl like Jade's gonna have herself in the phonebook?" Andre laughs. "Hell no. She'd have stalkers on her doorstep on the daily- people take their theatre pretty serious out here. Nah, she took her listing out of that thing about a month after she moved here."

"How was I supposed to know that?" I snap back defensively. I sigh, roughly raking a hand through my hair. "Damn it to hell. So that's out. Now what am I gonna do?"

Andre looks at me, clearly amused. "Beck, you're my friend, and you know I love ya, but _damn, _you just really aren't the brightest bulb in the tanning bed."

"What in the hell is _that _supposed to mean?"

He just snickers, crinkling the empty peanut packet in his fist. "Girl stayed with me for about a month, and even now I still see her _all the damn time," _he cackles, as if that's some kind of explanation.

I'm still puzzled for a moment before I finally understand what he's getting at. "Wait... you don't... you don't know where she lives, do you?" I ask excitedly.

"'_Know?' _Come on. I helped her pick it out. I even know where she hides her damned spare key."

* * *

Andre can't come with me right now; he has to get back for a meeting or something at school, but before we get off the plane, he hands me a cocktail napkin on which he's scribbled Jade's address, his address, and his phone number in case I need anything. I thank him repeatedly as we grab our stuff and stumble on stiff legs into the arrival area, but he's having none of it.

"It's nothing, Beck," he insists, suddenly lunging forward and swinging his suitcase off the luggage carousel. "Just helping a friend out. I'm sure you'd do it for me, you know, if things were different. Just... do me a favor, alright?" His tone shifts from conversational into something much more serious as he asks this, and I can tell he clearly means business.

"Yeah, man, anything," I sputter, feeling a little nervous under his steely gaze.

"Find her." He commands, staring me down ominously.

I swallow hard, my resolve becoming stronger than ever. "I will."

* * *

After I go through security and make my way out of the terminal, I catch a cab outside and heave my bag into the backseat before I slide in beside it. Traffic is at an absolute standstill, so I take advantage of the few free moments I have and turn my phone back on. When it boots up, I see that I have a text from my mom, telling me that she's cashed in all the points she's got on her AmEx card to book me a room in a reasonably nice hotel near Midtown. I breathe a sigh of relief as I text her back, thanking her profusely- working at the coffee shop blows enough as it is, and the pay is even worse. Even with all my savings, I'm broke as shit, and I'd been expecting to stay in some cheap, rat-infested motel while I was here. Now, I don't have to do that, and it's a pretty big weight off my shoulders- now, I have one less thing to worry about, and I can focus on the real reason why I'm in New York.

It takes an eternity, but the cab finally starts moving, weaving its way through the crowded streets, and deposits me at my hotel. I pay my fare, making sure to leave a decent tip; working as a cabbie has to suck at least as badly as working at the coffee shop, if not worse- and head into the lobby.

A bell tinkles when I walk through the door, announcing my arrival.

"Good afternoon, sir, and welcome to Grisham Inn and Suites," a smiling girl greets me from behind the desk. Hmm. Weird. I don't think I've ever been called 'sir' before. "Do you have reservations?"

"Uh, yeah, I think so," I stammer, fiddling with the worn strap on my duffel bag. "I should, anyway. My mom was supposed to make them for me."

"Last name?"

"Oliver."

"All right, let me check that for you," she replies, beaming up at me. I push the corners of my mouth upward into an expression that I hope is at least vaguely cheerful, wanting her to know that her kindness isn't completely wasted on me. I drum my fingertips on the polished countertop while she clacks away at her keyboard. Looking around the lobby, I notice a large display against one wall, right across from the luggage carts. It's entirely devoted to brochures about various Broadway shows, its focal point a large, green-and-black leaflet. With a slight pang, I realize it's an advertisement for _Wicked. _Shit. I turn back to the desk, swallowing the rising lump in my throat, and find the girl looking up at me expectantly.

"Oliver, you said?"

"Y-yeah."

"Beckett?"

"That's right," I say, not bothering to correct her with my nickname.

"Do you have ID on you, by any chance?"

"Yeah, of course," I reply. I fumble for my old leather wallet- which of _course _was a present from Jade for my seventeenth birthday- and slide my driver's license out from under the protective plastic window to hand it to her. She takes it and examines it carefully.

"California," she muses, keying in some more information. "Well, you've certainly come a long way, haven't you?"

I nod. "Sure have."

She smiles at me yet again before handing my license back to me, along with a little cardboard folder containing my room key. "Well, everything seems to be in order, Mr. Oliver. You'll find your room on the fourth floor. It's number 403. My name is Julia. Please let me know if you need anything, okay?" I nod yet again- I'm starting to feel like a bobblehead. "Great. Thank you for choosing Grisham Inn and Suites, and enjoy your stay."

I readjust my grip on my bag and head toward the elevator to go up to my room. When I open the door, I see that it's pretty small, which I know is typical of most hotel rooms in New York, but it's spotlessly clean. There's a comfortable looking bed, some standard furniture, a minifridge, a safe, and- oh, praise Jesus, there's a coffeemaker. I drop my bag in front of the dresser and set about pouring water and grinds into their respective places before pressing the 'on' button. As the coffee brews, it it fills the little room with its heady, familiar aroma, the scent serving to help relieve some of the tightly wound tension in my chest. When it's finally ready, I pour some of the steaming black liquid into a flimsy Styrofoam cup and drink it straight down, not pausing to add cream or sugar or even waiting for it to cool. It's hot, nearly scalding, and I can feel my mouth and throat screaming in protest, but I force it down anyway, making myself swallow it in spite of my discomfort.

It hurts. It does, but I deserve it, and not only that, I want to feel something, anything, even if it's just my tastebuds frying away into oblivion. I want to _feel _something, goddammit; I want to know that I'm alive.

I gulp down a few more boiling cups until the pot is empty and I'm completely full of coffee, to the point where I can feel it sloshing around uncomfortably in my stomach. When I'm done, I crumple my cup into the trashcan and head into the microscopic bathroom, where I strip off my clothes and stand under the shower until the water runs cold. When my skin is wrinkly and sore from the pounding streams of water, I finally step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I step over to gaze into the mirror, which is shrouded by a veil of steam. I wipe it away with the side of my arm and lean closer, so close that I'm almost touching noses with my reflection. Andre was right- I _do _have massive dark circles under my eyes. Despite the fact that I'm now clean, I still look like complete hell, and not only that, but there's something else wrong, a sort of discomfort I can't exactly put my finger on.

I stand there for what feels like hours until I finally realize what the problem is: I don't see myself looking back at me. All I see is a worthless piece of shit.

For the first time, the enormity of everything I've done, of everything I've fucked up so miserably comes to me all at once, hatred and disappointment settling over me like a dark cloud, and it's almost more than I can take.

"Who are you?" I whisper at my reflection. "What the hell have you become?"

It doesn't respond.

"Who the _fuck _are you?" I demand angrily, tears burning my eyes. "You did this, you know that? _You _did this to her! You ruined absolutely fucking everything and it's entirely your fault!"

There's still no reply.

"She could be fucking _dead _and it'd be all on you, all because you couldn't keep your goddamn mouth shut! You rotten sonovabitch! What the actual fuck is _wrong _with you?!"

Before I know what I'm doing, my fist slams into the mirror, the glass fracturing into spiderweb patterns as it shatters. I can feel tiny shards of it working their way underneath my skin, but it doesn't matter. Nothing fucking matters to me anymore. The only thing that ever did was Jade, and she's nowhere to be found.

I'm lost without her. I acted like I wasn't for as long as I could, but I am. I _need _her, and she's gone, wiped away as easily as the steam that had coated the mirror.

I'm broken, just like the mirror, only into about a million more pieces, but unlike it, I can't be fixed or replaced. All I can do is _feel _it.

I did this. I did this to both of us.

I don't know what to do.

"It's all your fault," I spit at my cracked reflection, sobs rising in my throat for about the millionth time. I feel my entire body start to shake, so I sink down onto the cold tiled floor before I fall over. I go to hide my face in my palms, and my tears burn the battered, bleeding flesh of my hand. It hurts. Everything hurts.

_I _did this.

It's all my fault.

* * *

**Author's Note**

So I know this update took a little longer than usual, and I do apologize for that. I had midterms and they were pretty killer, but now I'm on spring break, and I hope to update every day this week, if everything goes according to plan.

After this chapter, I've decided to change the rating to M. This is mainly just for language reasons, but I thought I'd let you guys know anyway!

I hope you liked it! Please consider leaving a quick review with your thoughts- reviews are what keeps stories alive!


	8. Stellar

Cold. I'm so fucking cold.

My eyes snap open, only to be forced back into submission by blinding white light. I'm freezing- shivering, even, and my body's stiff and cramped. I'm vaguely aware of a dull throb in my right hand. Sitting up, I rub my eyes with my fingertips, trying to regain my bearings. It takes me a second to realize that I'm sprawled on the ivory tile of the bathroom floor; I must have fallen asleep in here after my little outburst. Groaning, I heave myself to my feet and head back out into the main room, taking care to ignore the shattered mirror. I know if I even so much as look at it, I'll flip out again, and there's no telling how much damage I'll do.

I go to the dresser and unzip my duffel bag to rifle through its contents, looking for something to wear since I'm still dressed in only the towel I'd put on after my shower. I pick through the clothes until I find a pair of jeans and an old, worn-out t-shirt advertising a band I'd been in briefly after high school. I close my eyes and allow myself a moment to reminisce.

Like so much else in my life, being in that band hadn't amounted to anything, but it was fun. Jade used to come to our shows, if you could even call them that- usually it was just us going to some bar and coaxing the owner or manager or whoever to let us play the drunks out at last call, but Jade was always there, watching, cheering, singing along, as wrapped up in it as if we were rocking out Madison Square Garden. She'd actually been the one who'd had these shirts made for us. She'd given me mine as we were packing up our equipment late one night, excitedly whipping it out of her gigantic bag and handing it to me.

"What's all this?" I'd asked.

"Oh, come on, Beck, every good band has to have merch!" she'd wheedled. "It'll be good advertising. Just think- dive bars today, House of Blues tomorrow."

"You're delusional," I'd teased, slipping off my plaid button down and pulling the new shirt over my head. Damn, it was soft.

"I am _not,_" she'd snarked back, reaching up to tug my washer necklace out from under my collar. "You gotta dream big to be big, babe. If you think sleazy clubs is all this'll ever amount to, then you'll never get anywhere. Man up and get out there. I know you guys can do it. And I really do believe that what you put out will come back to you, but it's all completely pointless if you don't even bother fucking trying." Pausing to take a breath, she'd looked up at me with those incredible eyes of hers and snaked her arms around my waist, and when she spoke again, her tone was considerably softer, which was typical Jade- zero to sixty and back again in a blink. I swear, it could give you whiplash. "For what it's worth," she'd murmured, reaching a hand up and tracing circles on my chest with a fingertip, "I believe in you."

I'd pulled her close, bending down to kiss her on the forehead. "Have I told you lately that I love you?"

Jade had laughed softly, which quickly turned into a yawn, and I couldn't blame her- it _was _pretty late. She'd leaned forward and snuggled her head against my chest, and was quiet for a moment before finally replying. "Yeah, yeah," she'd muttered, voice dripping with mock irritation. "I love you, too."

I finally break my little daydream, realizing I've just been standing there staring at the shirt, the worn fabric crumpled into a ball in my fist, grinding smithereens of broken glass further underneath my skin. I slowly unclench my fingers from it and pull it over my head, then step into a pair of jeans and tug my boots back on. When I'm done, I look down at my hand. The side of my fist is all cut up, a few pieces of glass sparkling from the wound.

Wincing, I grab a toothpick from the little basket beside the coffee maker and set about the excruciating task of digging it all out. When I finally do finish, I'm bleeding again, hands trembling, pulse throbbing, and breath shaky from the experience- it was much more difficult and unnerving than I'd bargained for.

I step back into the bathroom, making sure to keep my eyes down so I don't have to look at the damage I've done to the mirror. I snatch a washcloth from the chrome rack above the toilet and gingerly wrap it around my injured hand. It instantly spots red. I'll have to get some proper bandages. I think there's a Duane Reade a couple of blocks down. Might as well head there now, I figure, slipping on my jacket before pocketing my room key and wallet. Once I get that all taken care of, I can get down to business.

I had thought I'd gotten up pretty early, but once I get to the lobby, a large digital clock behind the front desk all but announces that it's nearly ten in the morning. I shake my head. Goddammit. Stupid jet lag. I'd forgotten about the three hour time difference between here and California. That's going to be a bitch getting used to.

Another guest walking into the lobby sends in a gust of cold wind and makes me shiver, so I button up my peacoat. Ugh. Even though it's March, it's pretty cold here, especially compared to the mild Hollywood weather that I'm accustomed to. I smile and nod at the girl behind the front desk, a different one from last night, and venture out into the streets of the city.

I've been to New York once before, you know. Senior year, Sikowitz took the advanced theater class here for a long weekend. He does it every year. Sort of a tradition, getting away with the seniors before they all go their separate ways. I remember how excited we all were as we boarded our flight at LAX, nervous energy coursing through us all so much that you could probably hear it buzzing in our veins if you cared to stop and listen hard enough. I remember how it'd been Robbie's first time on an airplane, and he'd clung to Rex with one hand and covered his eyes with the other, muttering nervously in Hebrew as we started down the tarmac to take off. I remember how Cat had been delighted to find bibble on the in-flight menu. I remember Tori getting motion sickness, violently retching into her paper bag. I remember Sinjin intently watching the in-flight movie, even though it was some foreign film called Ick Glockmah that he couldn't possibly have understood. I remember how I'd snickered as Andre'd serenaded the flight attendant, and how we'd all watched uncomfortably as Sikowitz had a minor freakout about the unavailability of coconut milk when they'd served us our drinks and pretzels.

But we'd arrived in one piece, and we'd had an absolute blast, seeing a couple of Broadway shows, taking part in an improvisation workshop, eating Frrrozen Hot Chocolate at Serendipity 3, posing for pictures with the doormen at Tiffany's on 5th Avenue, and all of us making larger than life plans about how we were definitely going to be back for good someday. Our last night here, we'd all gone to the top of the Empire State Building. I remember slipping away with Jade to the other side of the observation deck, and kissing her just like Tom Hanks _should _have kissed Meg Ryan in Sleepless in Seattle. I'd held her close against the cool night air, and we'd looked down at this unfathomable, beautiful city unfolding beneath us, lights twinkling and the moon a hazy halo against the inky sky, and we might have been miles away from anything celestial, but that sparkling city was just as beautiful as any galaxy, and it felt like it was all there for us, an entire undiscovered solar system revolving not around a sun, but around two teenagers desperately in love with each other, and I remember thinking that must be what infinity felt like.

And now here I am again in this city, but now instead of being like the Milky Way, full of mystery and promise, it feels more like a black hole. It's sucked my sunshine into its swirling abyss, and I'm alone. And it's just occurring to me now that I haven't just lost _her_. I've lost my friends, my potential, and my sense of self, and those are all things that can take lightyears to be rediscovered.

But as I head into Duane Reade and walk up behind a stockboy to ask him to help me find some bandages for my hand, he turns around, and I'm once again met with a familiar face, and the burnt-out constellation of my life bursts with a new star of hope.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm sorry that this chapter took so long! I'm in college and have been busy with schoolwork, plus I had the joy of getting the stomach flu last week and didn't feel up to much of anything, much less updating. But I'm getting back on track now with drafting and such and updates should become pretty regular again. Also, I apologize for the cheesy space metaphors. I've been watching a lot of the SciFi channel lately. You'll have to excuse me.

I love reviews. Leave one and we can be friends. :)


	9. Reconcile

"Robbie?" I stammer, a bit taken aback.

He squints at me through the thick lenses of his wire rimmed glasses, looking puzzled. "Beck?"

I nod in disbelief, stepping forward to pull him into a quick hug. "I had no idea you lived here, man."

"Yeah, well, that's not surprising," he replies, pulling away and folding his arms across his chest, putting more distance between us. I step back, stung. While he'd tried to keep his tone lighthearted, there was no mistaking the slight snap of bitterness beneath the surface of his words.

"Yeah, I'm sorry about that," I sigh. "I know I've been kinda AWOL lately, I just-"

"_'Lately'?"_ he repeats, the already hard edge of anger bubbling up further and setting itself more firmly into his voice. "Come _on, _Beck. We haven't talked in over a year. That's not what I'd call 'lately'." He shakes his head, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "I just don't get you, man. One day, everything was fine, and the next thing I know, you're hiding out in that dingy camper of yours in some sketchy trailer park, not returning anyone's calls or texts, like you don't even give a damn about your friends anymore."

His words are sharp, but judging from the look in his eyes, there's no real malice behind them; there's just more hurt than anything else. Unsure what to do, I shuffle my feet, clenching my damp, bloody washcloth tighter around my hand. "I know I was a total dick, Rob," I mumble. "And I'm sorry. I was just such a goddamn mess when Jade left-"

"-And I _understand _that, I do, but that's no excuse for just running the hell off!" he explodes, spitting the words at me like shards of broken glass. "You could've come to me, to Tori, to Andre, to Cat, even, but you fucking _didn't. _We could've helped you, you know, but you never even gave us the chance to show you that." He sighs, slipping his glasses off and rubbing a hand over his face.

We stand there solemnly for a moment, the quiet broken only by the faint hum of the fluorescent lights and the beeping of the cash registers. I don't speak. I mean, what point is there? What can I say? I know there's no defending what I've done; there are people I've hurt. There are bonds I've broken. I hang my head in shame as the silence between us grows stonier by the second, like someone's building an actual, impenetrable brick wall here in the middle of the drugstore. I'm considering turning and walking away in defeat when he surprises me by speaking again.

"You aren't the only one who lost something, you know," he says softly, slipping his glasses back on and absently twirling the ties on his uniform smock between his fingers.

I peer up at him, confused, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Yeah, you heard me. You drove Jade off. You lost your girlfriend. Boohoo, that sucks, but you forget that when she left, Cat lost her best friend, too."

I feel my heart sink a little. That thought hadn't even occurred to me, and now that Robbie's pointed it out, I realize it is entirely true. Cat had known Jade since middle school, since before I'd even come into the picture, and they'd always had a tight bond. Jade had a softer spot for Cat than I'd ever seen her have for anyone else, even Tori. Cat had clung to her, and Jade had let her, allowing her in when nearly everyone else was shut out. I can't imagine what she must have felt after Jade just fled without telling a soul where she was going. I close my eyes. I can picture it. I remember what she was like when she'd thought Mona Patterson had died. I can see her replacing her normally bright and cheerful clothing with dark, muted, sad colors, wearing her "I'm sad, ask me why" button on her lapel, the usual pep in her eyes replaced by a deep sorrow, unable to understand why her best friend would just leave without telling her, and the accompanying guilt settles into me, making me feel heavy as lead.

"And not only that," Robbie continues, "You-" he pauses, like he can't decide if he wants to keep going with what he's trying to say. "You left us too, Beck," he finishes, resting a forearm on an empty shelf beside him. "_All _of us. With no warning at all, just like Jade did. Do you know how badly that hurt? How much that fucked with us? Our entire group dynamic was the same for almost five years and that was all finished in no time at all. Seriously, to this very _day, _Cat still gets upset about how everything went down. Sometimes, I come home and find her curled up with that stupid purple stuffed giraffe of hers, leafing through our yearbooks and just crying her eyes out."

"Wait," I say slowly, piecing something together from what he's just said. "You and Cat live... together?"

"Yes. And _yes, _it's like _that, _before you ask. I think we both knew someday it would be, it was just a matter of when," he says, and I can hear his voice softening considerably as he talks about her. I smile. Good for them. They deserve each other.

"But that's not the point," he continues, starting to sound pissed off again. "The point is-"

"Shapiro!" a voice barks from behind us, startling me. I turn around to see a tall, slightly menacing bald man with a very impressive mustache leering down at us. He's clearly Robbie's boss. "Are you flirting, or working?"

Shit. I hadn't meant to get him in trouble. But when I glance back at Robbie, he doesn't look intimidated in the slightest. In fact... he almost looks bored.

"Neither, Doug," he says coolly, sticking his hands in the pockets of his smock. "You remember that guy I'm always bitching about over poker? You know, the jackass? _Was_ one of my best friends, but then seemingly fell completely off the face of the earth?"

Doug nods, pursing his lips. "Yeah, of course."

"Well," Robbie nods towards me. "That's him. Beck, meet my boss, Doug. Doug, meet Beck."

Doug steps forward and peers down at me. "So _you're _the one, eh?" he asks gruffly. "Heard a lot of things from this one about you."

"All of them good, I'm sure," I mutter under my breath.

"What's that?"

"Nothing," I say quickly, casting my eyes back down to the tiled floor. I know they say not to judge a book by its cover, but this is one big man, and now would really not be a good time to get the shit beaten out of me.

"Smartass," he sneers, turning back to Robbie. "Well, Shapiro, I'm sure you and pretty boy here have plenty to discuss, so why don't you go ahead and take the rest of the afternoon off? Business is slow today, anyway. I'm sure we'll manage without you."

Robbie nods. "Thanks, boss."

"But I'll expect to see you bright and early tomorrow to help unload the shipment from the truck."

"Yeah, of course." Robbie unties his smock and starts to take it off.

"All right, then. Oh, and don't forget about poker later this week. Bring Caterina with you. I'm sure she and the missus wouldn't mind getting together again."

"I'll do it," Robbie agrees, folding his smock over his arm. "Cat'll like that."

"Good. I'll see you tomorrow, boy." Doug turns to walk away.

"Bye, Doug! Tell Connie I said hello!" Robbie calls at his retreating back. When he turns back to face me, I just stare at him, dumbfounded.

"What?" he asks.

"How are you so-" I hold up my good hand and cross my fingers. "-with him?"

"I don't know, I guess he just likes me. We get together sometimes. He's teaching me poker, I'm showing him some basic ventriloquism. Cat loves when we go over there and she gets to bake with his wife, Connie." He shrugs. "I don't think he has too many friends, which is something I can relate to," he says, looking at me pointedly. "So we're buds. We help each other out." He pivots on his heel. "Come on, I've got to go clock out."

I follow him down the aisle and through a door marked 'Employees Only'. Once inside, Robbie stashes his smock in his locker and grabs his keys off the hook inside before scanning his time card through a sensor panel on the wall. I just wait by the door, trying to clean some of the drying blood off my hand so it looks a little less gory, but it isn't really helping. When he's done, he faces me, resting his back against the wall, arms folded.

"So. You never did tell me what you're doing here."

I gesture to my wrapped hand. "I had a little accident at the hotel last night and needed to get some bandages."

"Not here in Duane Reade, dumbass!" he exclaims, jangling his keys impatiently. "New York! What are you doing in _New York?_"

"Oh," I say sheepishly. "Jade."

"Why?" he asks sarcastically. "What, is she missing or something?" He chuckles, proud of his joke.

"Yes."

That stops him mid-laugh. "Wait, seriously?"

I roll my eyes. "No, actually, I had delightful breakfast this with her this morning and then we took a nice stroll in Central Park- YES, seriously! Jesus, don't you watch the news? She hasn't shown up for work in days, and she's not responding to any calls or anything. No one knows where she is."

"As I matter of fact, I _don't _watch the news," Robbie says evenly. "I'm working sixty hours a week, and Cat's got a job as a counter girl at Dylan's Candy Bar, so any free time either of us have, we usually spend together, and not glued to the television like drones." He pauses, thoughtful. "Ever since we moved here last year, Cat's been really trying to reconnect with Jade, too. Whenever she's not at work or with me, she's with her. It's like nothing's changed. She's over the moon to have her best friend back again." He exhales through his teeth. "Come to think of it, she _did_ say something the other day about Jade not returning her calls, but I just blew it off. I didn't think anything of it." He shakes his head, hooking his thumb through his belt loop. "I don't know how I'm gonna break the news to her. I don't think there's enough bibble in the world to fix this."

"Then don't tell her yet," I plead. "I know a lot's happened and it's been a long time, but I still know Jade better than anyone else, and I think I might have a shot at figuring this out. Besides, she's only been gone a few days, you know? There's no sense in telling Cat and having her worry herself sick about it before we're one hundred percent sure what happened."

Robbie looks up at me and nods- I know he doesn't want to hurt Cat unnecessarily.

"So... are we... okay, then?" I ask. I do it cautiously, and try not to get my hopes up, because I know full well the answer is probably 'no', and I can't say I don't understand why.

Robbie just eyes me silently for a moment, studying me carefully before stepping forward and punching me as hard as he can, slugging me with surprising force. All those hours working here, unloading trucks and stocking shelves, have made him much stronger than I ever would've bargained for.

"Yeah, we're good now," he cackles while I gasp in pain and clutch at my throbbing shoulder.

"Okay, okay, I deserved that," I mutter through gritted teeth.

"Damn _straight_ you deserved that, you little shit," he replies, cursing for about the millionth time. Wow. New York seems like it's really toughened him up. "Pull another stunt like this again, and I won't be nearly as forgiving."

"Noted," I grunt.

"It's good to have you back, bro," he tells me, clapping me on the back. "Come on." He pushes through the swinging door and holds it open for me. "You're bleeding all over the place. Let's get you cleaned up before the security cameras see you and call you into the NYPD as a murder suspect."

* * *

**Author's Note**

I know I ended the last chapter on a cliffhanger, and I hope that this satisfies everyone. It took me awhile to decide which character to bring back, so let me know what you think of my choice. :)

The angst and suspense are going to ramp up in the next few chapters, so stay tuned for that! And please consider leaving a review, I read and treasure every single one.


	10. Regret

Robbie takes me upstairs to the little health clinic that I know most Duane Reade stores have, for things like flu shots and blood pressure tests- stuff that you need a professional to do for you, but not really serious things that you have to go to the trouble of making a doctor's appointment for. Placing his hand on my shoulder, he guides me onto a bench, then approaches the plump, smiling blonde woman behind the counter several feet away.

"Afternoon," he greets her.

"Afternoon, Robbie," she replies, beaming at him. A nametag prominently displayed on her starched lapel tells me that her name is Fiona. "Who's this?" she asks, nodding to me.

"That's my friend, Beck," he tells her, and I raise my uninjured left hand in a half-hearted wave. "He's cut the hell out of his hand, and I was hoping you could check it out for him."

Fiona peers over at me, her eyes widening when she sees the bloody washcloth I've got clenched around my fist. "Of course, of course I can," she fusses, coming out from behind the counter. She kinda reminds me of my mother. "Come with me."

We fall in line behind her and follow her to a small room in the back, where she directs me to sit in a plastic chair before leaving to go get a few things. Robbie drops himself into the seat beside me, checking his phone and shooting a quick text to Cat while I glance around my new surroundings. Judging from all the weird diagrams on the wall and the selection of otoscopes laying on top of one of the cabinets, this is where they usually do hearing tests.

"Dude?" I whisper, just in case Fiona is back within earshot.

"Hmm?" he asks.

"Are you... are you sure she can help?" I've always hated anything related to doctors, so this is making me more than a little nervous, but I can't exactly tell Robbie that without seeming like a complete and total wimp. I shift my weight uncomfortably in my hard plastic chair, peering through the open door to make sure the coast is clear before continuing. "Don't get me wrong, she seems... _nice_ and all, but this isn't exactly... I mean, I'm pretty sure all they do here is give flu shots and fit hearing aids. That's not exactly difficult stuff. How do you know she knows what she's doing?"

Robbie rolls his eyes as he locks his phone and pushes it back into his pocket. "Doing all that stuff might not be _difficult," _he agrees, "But it doesn't mean you don't have to be qualified. Fiona's a registered nurse, and she used to be an EMT. You're in good hands, dude. Don't be such a pansy." I must not look very convinced, because he nudges my knee in a way I guess he thinks is comforting. "It'll be fine, Beck," he says softly, elbowing me in the side. "She's gonna take good care of you. Promise."

I swallow hard and nod, more to myself than to him, and a few seconds later, Fiona walks back into the room, carrying the largest first-aid kit I think I've ever seen. She sets it on the counter beside the otoscopes, undoing the latches and rifling through it for a second until she finds a pair of rubber gloves, which she deftly snaps onto her hands before turning to me.

"So, you hurt yourself pretty bad, didn't you, Beck?" she asks conversationally, motioning for me to hold out my hand.

"Yeah," I reply. I can't help but wince as she unwraps the washcloth; it had been stuck to my skin with dried blood. "I had a little accident with some broken glass."

I hear a snicker from beside me, and when I turn to Robbie, I find him fighting back a grin, his mouth open and poised to say something. "Dude," I say sharply, "I swear to God, if you start singing that stupid fucking song-" My words are cut off by a gasp of pain; Fiona's ripped open an alcohol swab and is briskly cleaning my wounds with it.

"-I still think it had potential," Robbie cuts in, folding his arms across his chest. "It was miles better than that 'Favorite Foods' bullshit Andre came up with."

"Dude, that was like five years ago. I think it's time to move on."

"I'll move on when my song gets the credit it deserves."

"Yeah, I'm _sure _five year olds would have _loved _to have been serenaded with a song about the dangers of broken glass instead of one about their favorite foods."

"It was educational!"

"It was _morbid!"_

"You wanna talk 'morbid'? Whose girlfriend was it, again, who wrote a play about a girl falling down a well?"

I had been laughing as we had our little back and forth, but it dries up and catches in my throat. I try to smile and laugh it off, but I just can't, and judging by the look on Robbie's face, he knows he's gone too far. I look away from him, concentrating on the pattern of the tiles in the floor, and I can't help but wish I could sink right into them and disappear. Fiona, who had been biting back giggles herself, simply carries on with her work, using a small pair of tweezers to carefully pluck out some bits of glass that I'd missed, and to her immense credit she doesn't question the sudden awkward silence that has filled the room.

"I'm done cleaning this," she tells me, straightening up and tossing the used alcohol swabs and glass shards into the trashcan, "but you're gonna need some stitches."

I feel a rush of panic start to course through my veins- I absolutely _hate _needles. "Are you sure?" I ask, trying to keep my voice from sounding squeaky. "C-can't you just, I don't know, slap a good bandage on there and call it a day?"

"Not unless you want to keep bleeding all over the place," she snorts, pulling her gloves off. "You did a pretty impressive job of hacking yourself up on that glass, and since it's in such a high motion area of the hand, it's important that it heals properly. You don't want any more scar tissue than necessary, believe me. I'll go grab some numbing spray from downstairs to make it a little more comfortable for you, though. I'll be right back." And just like that, she's gone again.

Robbie and I sit in the uncomfortable quiet for a few minutes, neither of us sure how to break the tension that has settled between us. Finally, he clears his throat, and whispers "Sorry" under his breath.

I nod and sigh, resting my forehead in my good hand, my elbow propped on my knee. "I know, Rob, you didn't mean anything by it," I assure him.

He nods. "Yeah, I just forgot, you know... I mean, I just saw her the other day with Cat. We went to lunch together." His arms unfold, hands clapping to his denim-covered knees. "It's strange to think that she's just..." he trails off.

"Gone?" I offer.

Robbie nods again, slower this time, his Adam's apple bobbing under the pale skin of his neck. "Yeah."

I push a breath through my lips in a low hiss, not sure how to respond. He _had _upset me, but I can't expect him to walk on eggshells around me, policing everything he says to make sure that no mention of Jade ever occurs. After all, it's not like he's done anything wrong. The screwup title is mine for the keeping. "Look, um, don't worry about it, okay?" I tell him, raking my hair away from my face. "I know you didn't mean anything by it. We were just joking around. No harm, no foul." I sit back up and rest my head against the wall before turning to look at him. "Besides," I chuckle, "You have a point. That play she wrote? That _was _a little morbid."

"More than a little, I think," he says cautiously, testing the waters to make sure that he doesn't go overboard. "And that's not even counting the one about the clown and the parachute."

I allow myself to laugh at that, remembering the play he's talking about: Jade had written it for her creative theatre class junior year. "Yeah, she was pretty proud of that one," I agree. She really had been, too. She'd spent days poring over that script, writing and editing and rewriting until it was finally satisfactory to her. She had been so excited to give me her final draft to read; so completely jazzed to hear what I thought about this chaotic thing she'd poured her heart and soul into, and I just... didn't get it. "I never really understood what she was trying accomplish with that one," I admit to Robbie, crossing my ankles. "But I never told her that. I couldn't be the one to bring her down." I shake my head. "Of course, Tori's little Prome did a pretty good job of that."

"But Jade was there, right?" Robbie asks. "She got her revenge for that; she played that creepy slideshow, and had that guy in the diaper-"

"Yeah," I reply, "And after she did all that, she spent the entire night crying in my trailer and cutting her libretto into confetti with those scissors Cat got her."

Robbie's face softens. "Really?"

I nod.

"Why?"

"Her dad was supposed to come see it that night. He never really supported her being so into theater- he's a businessman, sees everything in black and white- so she was always trying to prove herself to him, to show him that she had talent and merit, and maybe make him appreciate her a little more. And after she'd spent so much time writing it, and went to the trouble scheduling it six months in advance for a weekend she knew he'd be in town, he never even got to see that play. It just crushed her."

Robbie eyes me, an expression of empathy playing across his face.

"You know," I muse, more to myself than to him, "As much as she'd like you to think so, Jade wasn't all arsenic and razor blades. She had her soft side; she could feel and hurt just like anybody else." I sigh, realizing just how true it is, and just like that, I'm lost in my thoughts again.

Jade had always had this fierce facade about her that she'd spent ages constructing. She was constantly playing it up, trying desperately to seem invincible so she could mask the real kindness and compassion that lay deep inside her. She never let anyone get too close, keeping a solid poker face so she wouldn't get hurt, either by her father's indifference or by people who just didn't understand her and mistook her passionate nature for strangeness. It had literally taken me _years_ to break her defenses down. For some reason, I'd been her exception. She'd let me in. Jade had pulled back the curtain and shown me her most sheltered and tender parts. She had given me all of her, provided me with all the information and tools and ammunition that anyone would ever need to irreparably damage her, but did so because she believed that I wouldn't do that.

She'd loved me. She'd put her heart in my hands and trusted me not to break it. And that's exactly what I did.

I've known this for awhile, of course. Every day for over a year, I've had to live with the knowledge that I hurt the girl I loved. It's a common feeling for me now. I'm used to it. But just because you're used to something, that doesn't mean you like it, and it sure as hell doesn't mean it hurts any less. If anything, it hurts more; the pain increasing day by day, taking over your entire being like an infection. I could bear it at first. I could manage to swallow it down and go about my life, shitty and meaningless as it was. Is. But now that she's gone, it's thrown an entirely new factor into the equation: uncertainty. I don't know if I'll ever get her to listen to me; to do everything in my power to fix it. Hell, I don't even know if I'll be able to _find _her, much less repair our shattered relationship, and that just... that just kills me.

I sit back in my hard plastic chair, grinding my teeth against the throbbing in my hand, staring into the bright fluorescent lights to try and quell the burning sensation in my eyes. I can feel Robbie's worried gaze on me, and I'm not surprised: I haven't spoken in several minutes.

"Beck?" he asks tentatively.

I give my head a slight shake, and he's quiet again. Robbie's always been pretty perceptive, a quality I used to find completely irritating in him, but one that I'm more than grateful for now.

Fiona comes back with a particularly frightening-looking aerosol can, a large, crimson cross emblazoned on the front of it. I can't help but think of blood when I see it. She places it on the counter beside the sink to wash her hands and snap another pair of gloves back on.

"This'll feel a little cold," she warns me, taking my hand and removing the can's cap, "but it shouldn't hurt too much." She nods to Robbie. "If you want, you can hold his hand while I do the stitches. Squeezing something usually helps take your mind off the pain."

Pain. I shiver a little in spite of myself. I know that feeling all too well.

I start to shake my head in dissent to Fiona's suggestion, but Robbie's already slipped his hand in mine. I give him a weird look.

"What?" he asks in his old puppet, Rex's, voice. "I'm secure!"

"Just seems a little weird that, less than an hour ago, you were pummeling the shit out of me downstairs, and now you're up here holding my hand while I get stitches," I mutter.

He snorts. "Stitches fucking _hurt, _Beck, even with that numbing crap." Fiona nods. "Trust me, dude, you'll thank me for this later."

"You will," Fiona agrees. "And I promise I won't tell anyone about this," she adds sarcastically, threading her needle. "Ready?"

I'm not, but I nod anyway. I can't help but let out a little grunt as the needle pierces my skin. My cuts aren't especially long, but they are kinda deep, and there's a lot of them. I know I'm in for a rough time. I wince and squeeze Robbie's hand. His knuckles are mottled white and purple, and I know that I have to be hurting him, but he just lets me do it, not saying a word as I all but crush his fingers into dust.

At some point during the stitching session, the tears that had been burning my eyes spring free and roll down my cheeks. Robbie taps my shoulder, making me look him in the face. I expect him to mock me or something, because crying is definitely not the manliest thing to do, but he just solemnly locks eyes with me. After a moment, he leans over and whispers in my ear, low enough that Fiona can't hear: "It'll be okay." And I know he's not just talking about my hand. He's talking about everything.

I nod and swallow, looking down to watch Fiona carefully piece my skin back together, and I wonder if maybe I can find a way to do the same with my heart.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I'm so sorry that this update took me so long! I was so busy with finals and moving out of my dorm and back home, and on top of all that, my roommate accidentally took home one of boxes- and of _course _it was the one that had all of my fanfiction notes and outlines in it. It took me longer than I expected to get it back, but I'll make it up to you guys, I promise.

The story will really be picking up in the next chapter and the ones after that, so stay tuned! Also, if you favorite or subscribe or even just read, please consider leaving a review. I really do love reading them. :)


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